


The Wolves Between The Walls

by WeirdAlterEgo



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Robin (Comics)
Genre: Butt Plugs, Dubious Consent, M/M, Pregnancy Kink, Rape/Non-con Elements, just Damian's silly sex talk, no actual impregnation happening, slight desperation, unbetaed hot mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:46:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28866492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeirdAlterEgo/pseuds/WeirdAlterEgo
Summary: Tim gets stuck in a wall. Damian has his way with him.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Damian Wayne
Comments: 7
Kudos: 156





	The Wolves Between The Walls

**Author's Note:**

> So I was prompted by Zeeskeit_ceirtlin with Tim getting stuck in a wall. The prompt I didn't know I needed...
> 
> I am still feeling unmotivated and stuff, but I hope you'll like this anyway, cause this had to be written. :)

He makes the climb carefully, aware of how tight he fits into the ducts. This is why Robin is supposed to be a kid, he thinks bemusedly. Damian would have made it to his goal and back by the time Tim came upon the correct room.

The wiretapping isn't easy, as squished he is between the old walls, with bugs he doesn't want to acknowledge crawling over him. There are cobwebs distorting his vision that he has to wipe off every other minute. He's wearing a mask so he doesn't inhale god knows what and sneezes at the worst possible minute, but it's small comfort.

Hacking the PC is harder. He has to shimmy around so he can reach through a vent to plug into a USB port. He has to maneuver to pull the vent back in while he squirms around, trying to find a position he can squeeze an arm over and actually push the single button that would unleash his dormant spyware on his wrist computer. It's hard to do it with the body of an adult, is all he's saying. And he is the smallest and slimmest in his family, which is saying something.

Except for Damian of course. But the kid tore the R from his chest and the heart out of his father when he left, and once again Tim had no choice but to do damage control. Again.

He is back to Robin, back to a sad, angry Batman, back to square one. At the tender age of almost-20. Fuck his life, right?

He stifles the satisfied grunt when he manages to transfer the spyware onto the PC and then he gets to squirm back, careful not to make loud bumps and scrapes as he gets into position to push the vent back and remove his wire, pull the vent back and begin his descent down to the third floor where the single abandoned flat is that he managed to find entry from.

Two floors down and two flats over.

Between the walls.

The crawl space is tiny and dark. Tim shivers every time he feels something brush up against his exposed skin, something that's _moving._ He doesn't have phobias, but it's still unpleasant when cockroaches climb over him.

He wants to curse and slap out and retch in revulsion, but he can't. He also can't go faster. There are people outside the walls, living, existing, listening. He can hear them as he climbs over and under pipes and stray boards, iron nails and whatever he can use that can hold his weight.

It's a long, arduous descent into the tiny vent that he could barely squeeze into. He just thanks his lucky stars he isn't claustrophobic. He wouldn't have made it halfway up, he thinks. On the bright side, he brought an extra flashlight that he could attach to his body so he could at least make out the way, having dropped two so far. And he is really glad they didn't make two much noise going down. That would have gotten him made.

Granted, he doesn't have much use for them on his way back down, but at least he is not completely in the encompassing, musty darkness. It's all too easy to imagine the darkness staring back, pasty-white, many-legged creepy-crawly monsters staring at him from behind the line of darkness, just biding his time.

He shivers. Fine. Maybe he is a little bit afraid of the dark. The all-encompassing, musty-odoured darkness that lives in sealed attics and tombs.

_Stop._

_Don't think about that._

_You're almost there._

He _stops_. He reins his thoughts back and focuses on making his silent way down. He can barely see the vent if he cranes his head to the side and down, under his right armpit.

He drops down, scooting the last ten or so meters horizontally before he has to squirm out.

His legs are out. Soon his body will be, too. His heart is beating out of his chest in elation. He doesn't remember when he last felt like that.

So maybe he has a tiny bit of a phobia of the dark. The _really_ dark. It's not like it's an issue. Not in bright, neon-lit Gotham. And anyways, he can just deal with-

His ass is already out when he feels a sharp poke the small of his back, just over his lower lumbar vertebrae. _Shit._ He freezes instantly.

His panicked mind (with his head still stuck in the _dark_ , comes up empty. He opens his mouth but _nothing_ comes out. His brain flounders, but apparently he doesn't need to speak.

"Don't move," comes a whisper. It sounds... familiar. "Should you move I cannot guarantee my sword won't run through your spinal column."

Tim's body locks up, even though he wants _out_. Now. Or better yet, yesterday. But he thinks he knows how sharp that katana is.

"Clearly, I shouldn't be surprised," his attacker drawls "that you're be back in that uniform so soon. That you're in my discarded rags as soon as they hit the ground. You came _to me_. You asked for my advice. _I opened up to you!_ And yet..."

The next second Tim feels as his legs are grabbed and pulled apart (what), as his belt is undone with the traps defused eerily fast (what?), and then his pants are pulled down along with his underwear (what?!).

Half of his body is still stuck inside the musty vent in the wall while Damian sticks slippery fingers between Tim's cheeks and slips one of them up his clenching, protesting hole. Tim stares into the darkness, his fingers scrabbling against the ground as he is breached.

"Stop!" he yells, discovery be damned. It'd be better than _this_. It's madness. They haven't seen Damian since he tore off his R, rejecting the uniform, and now he is back? Back to do... this? To Tim?! "Damian! _Stop this madness!_ "

The brat doesn't. Of course he doesn't. He hasn't listened to Tim once since they've known each other. Instead of withdrawing the finger inside Tim, he forces another in against Tim's best efforts. It squirms in slickly, both fingers pumping in and out before they start to scissor and stretch Tim's passage.

"Why would I, Drake?" Damian asks, voice deceptively soft as silk. "We both knew this was coming. This attraction that has been building between us ever since the first time I tried to kill you."

Cold sweat prickles Tim's skin. What attraction? He thought the rabid little gremlin wanted him dead, not into his pants! Is everybody in the al Ghul family crazy?! Oh... right. Who is he kidding? At least Damian isn't calling him _Beloved_ and hasn't engineered a kid from their combined genetic material. Yet.

Well. There's a comforting thought.

"You are a hard man to track down alone." Damian goes on without requiring any input from Tim. "That clone hangs around you too much. He doesn't know his place."

"Fuck you." He spits. His reaction is instantaneous and visceral.

His reward is a hard slap on his right cheek. His hole clenches down on the fingers inside him, and he has to clench his teeth around the moan that threatens to escape him. He tamps down on the feeling of pleasure. Should he show enjoyment, he wouldn't be able to talk himself out of this.

"Don't be crass, Timothy. It doesn't become you." Damian chides him as he strokes his other hand over the smarting cheek. "Your skin is beautiful like this. Like an empty canvas waiting for my marks. It blooms so pink and delicate, like watercolour.

Tim wants to snap back, to tell Damian Kon is twice the man he could ever be, but... there is something niggling in the back of his head... If both of Damian's hands are on (and _in_ , oh god) Tim, what holds the katana steady? Did the kid just leave it there, balanced precariously on Tim's back?!

Yeah Tim thinks the al Ghuls are a bunch of madmen (and women).

"Damian," he tries. Maybe the key is to not lose his patience, for that can be mistaken for passion by the little beast. "There is no spark. You are a child..." he stops. Damian acted like an entitled brat so much Tim forgot he wasn't actually a spoiled little 10-year old. He always forgets Damian is a big brat now.

"I'm over the age of consent, Timothy." Damian reminds him with an amused-sounding drawl. "And I hoped we may face each other as equals, both having evolved from the shadow that Grayson left behind. I left Robin behind, just like you, and yet... You devolved back. You squeezed yourself back into a role too small for you. You do not deserve to be called my equal." Damian spits out, and a third finger forces its way inside Tim.

The stretch _burns_. Tim whimpers. His whines echo in the damp, musty dark. He hears skittering feet.

The fingers still. He hears shuffling in the background, the fingers pull out, and for a single second he has hope, that Damian has decided to be rational, or perhaps have mercy... but then he feels some sort of cold liquid drizzling onto his hole and the fingers slide back, smooth and sticky. They begin scissoring again, gentler this time. They graze his prostate and he has to clench his gauntleted fingers together to keep from bucking up for more.

He _needs_.

"Please," Tim tries. He isn't above begging. He'll gladly resort to begging if this stops now. This is crazy. Damian is crazy. _Tim_ is crazy. "Please stop this! I don't want this. _Please let me out of the dark!_ "

The fingers still and pull out again. The sword's point disappears from the small of his back. The next second he feels cold steel against his empty, hungry hole.

"I have bested you, Timothy. You will _not_ finagle your way out of this, like you do with my grandfather every time. I will take you now, for you are _my_ prize, and I do not let go of what is rightfully mine. Should you best me, you may sate your need however you wish with my body. Not that you will _ever_ best me." The edge of the blade presses just a little harder against his sensitive rim and Tim whines. "Do not resist me, Timothy. I will not be kind tonight, if you do."

Tim shivers.

He knows he can't stop Damian. He doesn't know why the damn brat imprinted on him of all people, but he can't change it now. The hellspawn will get what he wants, everything and everybody else be damned.

The sad part is, Tim would have fucked this out with the brat if he just asked nicely. In a bed. Somewhere where he can see things and isn't trapped in the dark with a lot of creepy crawly bugs and god knows what else.

"If you want it so damn much, get to it already!" Tim snarls. His patience is gone. He wants out. _NOW._

His reply is a chuckle.

The next second he feels the blunt head of Damian's dick rubbing against his rim, soothing the feeling of cold steel before the brat bears down and spears Tim with a single, burning thrust. He bites off the scream, but he still makes noise. He hears skittering again, further away, and he stares down the dark while Damian pulls back, readying for a second thrust.

It's clear the kid is very excited. He pulls out fully, probably not meaning to, scrambles to get back inside Tim's waiting hole. Tim wants to bang his head against something, because he can't even work a hand out to pull himself off, and it's maddening.

Damian fucks him hard Tim's body is shaking, his waist rubbing against the warped edges of the vent. His cock and balls swing with each thrust as Damian humps into him faster and faster until he jerks and stills, unloading inside Tim's bowels.

And Tim is still hard, goddamn it.

He wants to cry.

A hand rubs down his flank and slides underneath him, bypassing his straining cock to slide up underneath his suit and stroke his belly.

"I wish I could get you pregnant, Timothy. I wish I could show tangible proof to my Grandfather that I have claimed you for my own. That you are _mine_. I would show off your swollen belly and cradle you close. I would fuck you gently while we watched it sway with the weight of our child. I would steal you from my father and make you my own. _My own little bird_."

It's fucked up, but damn if it doesn't make Tim dribble more precome. He squeezes down on the dick still inside him. Just thinking about Damian getting him with child and fucking him through it is making him delirious with pleasure.

Behind him Damian hisses and shifts. Tim can feel him firming up, still inside him. It's fucking hot.

"Feel what you do to me, Timothy? I cannot resist your body. I can't resist the idea of having you all to myself, of claiming you body and soul." Damian confesses. His hand is pulled back from Tim's stomach to retake its place on his hip, and then he pulls back.

The second time is more languorous, slow, hard thrusts bouncing Tim back into the darkness as his prostate is rubbed relentlessly. The brat may or may not know what he is doing, but Tim will be damned before he begs that infernal hellspawn for release. He sobs as he hangs on the precipice, unable to fall over.

"Would you like assistance, Timothy?" the brat asks and stops hard.

Tim groans. He was almost there, dammit.

"Yes." He grits out. The brat started it, he damn well should finish it.

"It'll cost you," the brat drawls, amused again. Tim wants to strangle him so damn much.

"What do you want?" he asks... almost whines. He _needs_.

"I want to plug you up afterwards. I want to see you stretched and filled, ready for me when I next wish to take you."

Tim's floored. "What the fuck?!" Seriously, who gave the hellbrat these ideas? Who, is what he needs to know, and _now_.

"A plug. In your well-used, sloppy hole. I wish to plug you up with my seed inside you still, Timothy. I want you to carry my essence around you in Gotham until I remove that plug and fuck you again. I want _that_ in return for your pleasure."

Tim swallows.

It's not like he has to wait around the brat to get it up again. He says yes, the brat puts in the damned plug and then he just pulls it out and makes sure to put a tracker on the goddamned gremlin and never be in his vicinity ever again. Easy.

"Fine," he grits out. "Just do it already."

The brat cackles. The thrusts start back up, hard and fast while a hand slips down and engulfs Tim's erection and pumps it hard. Tim likes a gentle hand and clever touches, but the slippery, calloused hand is good enough and he comes and comes and comes while Damian fucks him through it and empties himself inside Tim a second time.

Tim would sag down if he could. Only his head drops down onto his arms, darkness be damned.

He feels as Damian pulls out before something cold is pressed up inside him. He sighs. Small price to pay.

Until the thing _grows_.

He yelps in surprise as it continues to expand until he is filled to the brink. And over. _It's too much._

His hands scrabble to pull himself back into the vent, but a hand clamps down on his suit and he is yanked back into place. He whimpers, sobs and squirms until it stops. He hears another click over the buzzing in his head.

The next moment he is cleaned and redressed with efficient movements, and he is yanked out of the vent without warning.

Damian blinks at him critically before his mask is yanked off and his face wiped down with antiseptic wipes. "You are a mess, Drake. Compose yourself."

Tim tries to. That plug is still inside him, shifting his center gravity and causing all sorts of feelings. He tries to think of the easiest way to get home and remove it as soon as possible.

"I'll take you back to the Manor. I have my bike parked down in the garage."

Like hell.

"I can make my way back myself." He tells the brat. Can't even look him in the face. "I have my own bike, you know."

"And your own Nest." Damian drawls, amused.

Tim chances a look at his face and freezes. The brat is smirking at him like he got Tim just where he wants him.

"You won't be able to remove that plug without assistance. I have the key to a very tricky lock. Unless, of course, you have someone who can cut it off and you trust them with metal cutters or _lasers_ so close to such delicate parts of your anatomy."

Tim's mouth drops open as his fingers slip down to feel... yes that feels vaguely like a lock under his suit pants. "Son of a bitch!"

Damian tsks. "Language, Timothy."

The brat walks out of the room towards the entrance. Tim stays there, frozen among the debris. _What the fuck_. What the fuck has he gotten himself into?!

"Come now, Timothy, " Damian calls back. "I promise I shall go under the speed limit. You should be quite _sensitive_ , after all."

Tim swallows.

He can't do anything. Not unless he is willing to ask Kon to remove a locked plug from his ass with laser... and tell him that he let Damian Wayne fuck him. Yeah, not even the threat of Batman would save Damian from turning into a pile of ash... Unless of course he has taken every precaution and has enough kryptonite to kill a squadron of Supermen.

Shit.

He reluctantly begins the walk down, whimpering as he feels the plug inside him rub against his prostate.

This will be a long ride home.


End file.
